Ironman Maryland 2016

I arrived in Cambridge at noon on Thursday 9/29.
I knew from the moment I stepped out of the car that this race was going to be interesting.

For the days leading up to the race, I don't think there was a moment that either Christina or myself didn't have a phone in our hand. We were constantly checking the weather, the facebook pages, the Ironman website, our e-mail. We already knew that some of the bike course was under 6 inches of water, surely there would have to be at least some type of modification and we were just waiting around to hear how things would play out.
Finally, on Friday night we got the news -- the bike course had been re-routed and would now only be 100 miles. We weren't the happiest, but it could have been worse.

It was now Saturday morning and race day was finally here - it was two years in the making since last year it was cancelled due to a hurricane that didn't happen. We walked from the house to transition, and as soon as we turned into Great Marsh Park we were met with something that would foreshadow the rest of our day. Great Marsh Park was flooded.
After a ... 'slightly damp' walk through the water, we prepped our bikes and organized our nutrition before I set out to wait in the horrendously long port-a-pot line ... per usual. Christina was tasked with finding Charlie as I did not properly prepare him on how to be a spectator by telling him he had to keep his eyes on us.

After what seemed like a lifetime, I finally was freed from clutches of the pre race port a loo lines and it was time for what typically seems like the most challenging part of my day -- putting on my wetsuit. With no sign of Christina, Charlie or the rest of my family in sight, I found an open area near the swim start that wasn't wet and muddy [which seemed like a miracle] thinking that I could easily spot someone, or them me -- not realizing that Christina was also doing the same. Inch by inch I twisted, turned, jumped, squeezed and pushed myself into my wetsuit ... cursing myself for not losing the extra weight I've been comfortabley holding onto for a bit too long. I constantly glanced around for a glimpse of a familiar face, but none came. My anxiety started to rise, my heart started to race ... what if I don't find anyone before the start of the race?
Of course it was the one race I left my phone at home.

They called in all the racers who were warming up in the water as everyone began to line up at the appropriate spot.
I .... was still trying to squeeze into my wetsuit.
I turned around to the spectator behind me and asked if I could borrow her phone, feeling dumb that I didn't think of it sooner.
I didn't know Charlie's number
       Who the heck memorizes numbers anymore?
I think my dad should be here by now... but of course I don't know his number either.
       Darn it Dad... why is your number so different then the rest of the ours?
I didn't even know if my mom and Abby would even be here yet, or if they were still getting ready.

As I dialed Abby's number I could feel tears welling up in my eyes ...
       What if she didn't pick up? She doesn't know this number.
Relief came when I heard her voice on the other end of the line.
        Abby? It's me. Where are you?

It was still dark, but I knew it was them as soon as I saw their bright neon yellow shirts appear on the other side of the playground .. thank you neon yellow for fighting the darkness so well.
I started to move towards them while leaving all of my stuff behind because I couldn't get to them fast enough - running up to my sister I hugged her as the tears that I had tried so hard to hold back broke free.
I was relieved.
I was anxious.
I was terrified.
Every emotion one could possibly feel, I felt.

But there was still no Christina.....

6:45 was quickly approaching, and with the race about to start, my dad zipped me up and I gave my farewell kisses before leaving to find my spot in line ... just to immediately turn back around as it was announced the race would be postponed 30 minutes due to rough water conditions. They were hoping that the conditions would lighten with the movement of the tide, but if not, the swim would have to be cancelled.I didn't mind the delay, though. I just found my family and I wanted.. I needed a few extra minutes with them.

It was the slowest yet fastest 30 minutes of my life before the announcer came on the mic, and we all knew immediately by his tone what he was about to say.
The swim was cancelled.
A time trial bike start would begin in another 30 minutes, at 7:50am.

It was time for my race to begin ... back to the port a pots before a line formed again. I had been waiting to hear if the swim was cancelled before deciding to pee in my wetsuit, and I was now glad I waited.
I pulled, tugged, wiggled my wetsuit down realizing that getting it past my ankles was not going to happen in this port a loo. I opened the door with my head hanging in shame and I waddled out with my wetsuit securely stuck around my ankles. Two male racers rushed over to aid me in my struggle as I sat my butt in mud as they pulled and tugged and pulled some more - finally releasing my feet from the casing of this stuffed sausage.
I walked back into transition to retrieve my bike gear bag, transitioned from swim to bike, and made my way to where my bike was racked. I finally saw Christina again, and I was thankful that we were so close in numbers because our bikes were near each other. It was now time for us to wait, together, for our turn to go.

Your excitement and anxiety peaked as you walked towards that swim start to line up ... psyching yourself up for what will be a very long and very painful day ahead ... just to have your emotions toyed with as they announced a 30 minutes delay. You try to stay hopeful, but your emotions come down as you wait, not knowing what the outcome will be before the final announcement is made.You're disappointed but can't be mad when they cancel the swim because you know when looking at the water, that it was certainly the right decision. But now, you have to completely change the day you have been picturing for two years. You alter your race plan, your nutrition plan, your goals.
I wasn't sure how to feel. Mentally, it was gone.
How was I supposed to get that race feeling back?

The race was supposed to begin at 6:45am ... now, at 8:20am, I finally found myself toeing the line with my bike - waiting for the guy to tell me "GO".
To go from zero to racing instantly.

The bike was 100 miles, and in an attempt to not bore you with 100 miles of thoughts, I felt, overall, fairly good.
My hamstring pulled a bit, most likely from the lack of warm up.
It rained.
The headwinds were relentless.
... and I was so excited when I turned into the high school which marked the half way point because it was there that I got to see my support crew.
Despite being thrilled to see them, I couldn't show it - and it was their first glimpse in seeing that is just wasn't my day. There would be no smile coming from my face as I pulled in and out of the relentless headwind, just a slight wave as I shook my head, tucked back into aero, circled around the parking lot and exited back out.
Even though my expression didn't show, seeing them changed my world at that moment. I cycled hard to get to them, and I would cycle hard to see them again at the transition. That is what I thought about.
Just get back to them.

I felt okay as I pulled back into the park, racked my bike and grabbed my run gear bag to transition from bike to run. But as soon as I stepped foot in the changing tent, I felt that everything was off. I took my time to sit down and swap out my gear before heading out onto the run course. It was finally the moment of truth to see how my knee felt after hurting it a month prior. Stiff at first, I felt some pain .. but despite how my knee felt, mentally I was already entering a dark place as I began the 2.5 loop run course.

My plan for the run was to just get from aid station to aid station. Run to them - walk through them, which I at least managed for the first couple.
Very quickly the pain in my body escalated.
My right knee began to hurt more, as well as the left as I tried to compensate.
My neck and traps tightened.
I continued to fall deeper into the dark places in my mind.
I began to question my ability to finish.

As I made a left to enter back into Great Marsh Park, I was met with the same flooding that we experienced earlier that morning, with no where to go but through it. The cold 69 degree water felt good on your feet ... until you exited the water with what now felt like 10 pound weights on each foot.

I rounded the park to the other side .. more water. more mud... but I was almost there.
I was almost to where I knew Charlie and my family would be, at the corner to West End Avenue. By this time I had adjusted my plan to run 10 minutes/walk 1 minute ... run 9 minutes/walk 1 minute ... whatever I could to just keep myself moving forward. As I approached mile 9.5 my eyes weren't on anything but my support. Signalling for my mom to cross the street to meet me with the others, I stopped to give everyone a hug - hoping it is what I needed to keep on going. Which it was ... for about 1 minute -- until I reach Water Street (which ironically lived up to its name).

My socks and shoes were already filled to the brim with water, so it no longer mattered. At least I only had to make it another mile until I got to see them again, one more mile and my third trip through the water.
As I passed by I think they could sense even more defeat coming off of my face from just that little bit of time. I told them about the flooded roads as I passed by, leaving them again for what would be the loneliest, darkest, 10 miles of life. Barely making it a couple yards past them, everything inside me just crashed. I couldn't even get out of their view before wilting down into a walk. Turning right back into Great Marsh Park - back through the mud, back through the flooded street ... I lost it. I struggled to run even a few steps before walking again. As I turned right out of the park, I questioned how much further I was going to go before turning in my chip.
       Just do it now while you're here.
       Just turn around and just walk back to the end of West End Avenue. Back to the people you love so much.
As I was trying to come to terms with what would be my first "Did Not Finish", I drastically changed my running plan again.
I would now run 1 minute/walk 1 minute because that is all I could physically and mentally force my body to do.
I hurt ... everywhere.
The extra strain of walking through the ankle and shin deep waters could be felt in my hips and my quads.
I now had a UTI (... TMI?)
I was just so damn disappointed in myself. I trained so hard, but none of my hard work was showing.
I was ashamed.
I was embarrassed, I was embarrassed to be seen not only by the athletes around me, but I was embarrassed because I knew people were tracking me and they were seeing how poorly I was doing.
I was embarrassed that Charlie, Christina and my family were seeing me like this.
I felt like a failure. I was failing myself, and I was failing them ... and I didn't want to be.
I had to keep moving. I had to keep pushing myself.

Before every Ironman, my family writes me little notes to carry along with me for whenever I need a pick me up, and there has never been a moment more than this that I needed one. I told myself that if I kept going, that I could reward myself at each mile marker by reading one (which worked out because I was now approaching the longest and loneliest section of the course). I reached for my little zip lock baggie, praying that they were still intact after being in my pocket all day, and pulled out the first note.
I unfolded it.
It was from Charlie.
He was so supportive, so proud of me. Even though I already felt like I was disappointing him with how poorly I was doing, I didn't want him to see me give up. I wanted him to see me cross the finish line and be "the finisher" - the name he gave me when we first met because I had on my Ironman Texas finisher jacket and he did not yet know my name.
I cried ... and then I hyperventilated -- maybe I needed to wait until after I finish to read the others.

By this time,  I was struggling with my nutrition. I couldn't take in food and I had to force myself to drink a cup of water and a few sips of gatorade at each aid station.

The skin on my back hurt to to touch.
I would run a few steps before slowing back down to a walk as I held my quads and hamstrings that began cramping.
A lump in my throat would form as I held back the tears that were brimming my eyes.
I started to lose my breath and hyperventilate more and far too frequently.
I passed Christina at an aid station and I could hardly even look up at her. I was so ashamed.

This was going to be my first DNF, but I needed to get back to my family first, and I needed them to tell me that it was okay to do. As I approached Great Marsh Park for the second time, every person I passed saw it in my face.
"You got it Amy"
"Keep it up Amy"
"You're doing Great Amy" .. okay, I know that person was lying...
... and just as I was approaching the turn into the park, I lost control of myself. I could no longer hold back the tears that I had been choking back the last couple of miles and they came streaming down my face. I couldn't wipe them away fast enough.

Turning in, the road was even more flooded than when I last left it. Longer ... deeper .. and the other side ... mudder.

I just had to make it .4 of a mile.

I tried to make myself appear better than how I felt. I tried so hard to run rather than walk, but the physical and mental pain I felt was tattooed a crossed my face. I passed my mom first, and she asked me if I was okay. All I could do was shake my head and flick my wrist signalling for her to come down where everyone else was, come to the end of West End Avenue. I made eye contact with Abby and for the second time that day I went straight to her and collapsed in her arms with enough tears to flood the street that I was standing on. Another racer paused and told me that it was going to be okay. She asked if I wanted to join her, and I told her that it was okay and that she should continue on.
I was here to give up.
But looking at my mom and dad, at Charlie, at my sister who was now crying with me (sorry Abby), I knew that I couldn't. I knew that despite how much I wanted to just give up right there ... I needed to finish.

Just 6 more miles.

I did my best to compose myself, and as I left them again I told myself I needed to look strong.
Look strong so they worry less.

My feet were raw from being soaked all day, and I was drenched. With each step I found a new pains as I was now running with open sores all over my body. I couldn't run without them burning, so I changed my plan again. Run 30 seconds/Walk 30 seconds .. and eventually, it was "do whatever you hell you can to just get to the finish line".
I turned off my watch.

As I approached Great Marsh Park for the third and final time I wondered if the same people who saw me crying the last time I made this turn were still there, and if so, if they were surprised to still see me.
I was happy to say goodbye to the flooded road of Great Marsh Park.
I was happy to say goodbye to the muddy grass as I ran out of the park and made a left to head down towards the end of West End Avenue.
I scanned the streets, but I no longer saw the bright neon yellow waiting there for me.
As I passed by in whatever run- walk- shuffle I was doing I heard cheers coming from Christina, who had already finished and was now waiting for me. She told me they were waiting for me at the finish ... I had to get there.
Once on water street, I walked through what would be my 10th and final flooded road for this marathon run - which I think makes up for the swim we didn't get. I was about halfway through when I heard the guy I was approaching say "I think you need a hug" as he wrapped his arms around me ... surely not expecting what he was about to get. I held on tight as I once again broke down in tears. Everything came out. I had just lived in darkest places I ever have for the last 25 miles.
I hurt. I was drained. But finally - for the first time today - I knew I was going to finish..
Rather than pulling away, he just held me .. me, a stranger.. and let me cry until I was ready to continue on.
I exited the water and I saw my dad as I turned right to go back through the downtown area before making my way to the finish which was just to my left.
I couldn't wait to get there.
       Just run as much as you can, you are almost there
The streets were lined with people cheering and high fiving. The restaurants and brewery were lit up as everyone hung out the doors and windows yelling words of encouragement. They were amazing, and I so badly wanted to be able to take it all in and enjoy it, but I couldn't.
Every ounce of me had to go into my next step, so much so, I could hardly feel the rain that started to fall.

I finally passed the last turn around and was on my way to the finish.
I saw the bright lights in front of me.
The cheers grew louder with every step.
I was going to do it.
I passed my dad again and we high fived as I finally entered the finishers shoot.
It was bright. The crowds was roaring.
I tried to look better then I felt with my best attempt at what could possibly pass as a run.
I heard them cheering my name ... I heard Abby, my mom, Charlie - but I didn't know where they were.
Everything was a blur.

I passed under the finish.
I dropped my head.
I cried.

As the volunteers grabbed hold of me and placed the medal around my neck, all I could do was look over my shoulder to Charlie and my family as they pushed their way to me. I bypassed my finisher photo, and bee lined it straight to them. They were all I wanted.

An "Ironman" is a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride and a 26.2 mile run ... and although we only biked 100 miles and ran 26.2 miles that day, I felt more like an Ironman at that moment than I ever have. It wasn't my best race, it wasn't my day -- but I walked away knowing that I literally gave it everything I had.

I've become an Ironman before, but on this day, I finally felt like one.